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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29660391">Asrian Vent: Angsty Fluff for the Soul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/900JarsOfNerdyJellyBeats/pseuds/900JarsOfNerdyJellyBeats'>900JarsOfNerdyJellyBeats</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Arcana (Visual Novel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Asrian wbk, Bad Dreams, Other, angsty fluff, venting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:35:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29660391</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/900JarsOfNerdyJellyBeats/pseuds/900JarsOfNerdyJellyBeats</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This was a vent thing I wrote a while ago to make myself feel better, and I hope it helps make other people feel better too ;w;</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Asra/Julian Devorak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Asrian Vent: Angsty Fluff for the Soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TRIGGER WARNING: There are heavy themes about death up ahead. Although it gets resolved as the story progresses, I'm still putting this warning here just in case the topic makes anyone uncomfortable or is triggering to any of you. Anyway, happy reading to all of you (whether you all read this or not), and I hope you all have an incredible day/night.<br/>TTvTT</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This can’t be happening.</p>
<p>This can’t be happening.</p>
<p>Thi s  ca nt  b e <em>happening</em>.</p>
<p>The sight before him is unbelievable. A raging storm. A relentless whirlwind. A jagged cliff. </p>
<p>The love of his life teetering on its cusp. </p>
<p>Tears wavering in his love’s eyes. A somber smile resting on his love’s face. He screams, he cries, he wails, he pleads, but it’s all for naught. The storm slices his throat. The whirlwind silences his words. </p>
<p>Nothing gets through to his love. </p>
<p>His legs are lead. His chest is ice. His arms are too short. There’s no way to reach his love. There’s no way to stop his love. </p>
<p>Fate is set.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Goodbye, Asra.”</em>
</p>
<p>And just like that...</p>
<p>Gone.</p>
<p>Extinguished.</p>
<p><em>c̸͙̯̺͚͊̉̾Ọ̷͖̙̘̲͘l̷͉͐̎l̴̲̳̉̇̓̌͝A̷̛̖̞̍̉̆͛ͅp̷͚̩͍̎̐̉̔S̸̬̓͑Ȩ̷͇͈̓d̴͈̝̻͐̋͑͊͒͜</em>.</p>
<p>What’s a lost soul left to do...?</p>
<p>Suddenly, movement is possible. But what’s the point? It’s too late. His light has gone out. His other half has shattered. His love has left him right before his very eyes.</p>
<p>And he didn’t do a thing.</p>
<p>Not a thing.</p>
<p>Not a thing...</p>
<p>Not...</p>
<p>Even if it doesn’t matter, even if there’s no point, he lurches forward anyway, the storm giving way so he can finally form words, the whirlwind subsiding so his lament can be known to the world.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Ilya!”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“ILYA!”</em>
</p>
<p>“ILYA—!”</p>
<p>He claws at his heart, his grasp, his reach, his cries all coming up short...</p>
<p>“Asra...?”</p>
<p>He gasps.</p>
<p>
  <em>Wait...</em>
</p>
<p>He squeezes his eyes and shakes his head, giving himself a chance to adjust to reality. When he finally comes to, the sight before him makes his heart ache with incredible relief:</p>
<p>“I-Ilya...”</p>
<p>Asra exhales slowly, running a shaky hand through his hair and rubbing the fresh gash on his chest.</p>
<p>
  <em>Just a dream...just a dream...</em>
</p>
<p>“Was that...a nightmare?” Ilya croaks, his weight on the bed shifting.</p>
<p>Asra closes his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing as he retreats into himself. He nods.</p>
<p>“Are...are you okay?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine.”</p>
<p>He hears Ilya’s low, skeptical hum as his weight shifts even more.</p>
<p>“I could just be fatigued, but you don’t look fine.”</p>
<p>“Ilya, I’m fine...”</p>
<p>“You’re shaking.”</p>
<p>“I’m not—“</p>
<p>“And crying.”</p>
<p>Asra’s eyes shoot open.</p>
<p>
  <em>Am...am I?</em>
</p>
<p>He slides trembling fingers across his cheeks, sure tears marking his fingertips. He sniffles in spite of himself as a sorrowful pang punctures his incomplete heart.</p>
<p>“I...”</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m not okay.</em>
</p>
<p>Asra buries his face in his hands with a heavy sigh, vague yet overbearing melancholy settling onto his shoulders.</p>
<p>“I’m not...” he tries again, only to find his mind muddled with messy, foreboding feelings. “It’s just...I-I couldn’t save you—“</p>
<p>His voice breaks.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m a failure...</em>
</p>
<p>He turns his head away from Ilya, clenching the fabric over his heart, biting his lip, trying not to cry. But the melancholy coaxes his tears out all too easily. Bears his agony without a care.</p>
<p>“I know you’re strong enough without me,” he quavers, “but I wasn’t there when you actually needed me. I didn’t do a thing. I just watched—I just watched you—“</p>
<p>
  <em>Die.</em>
</p>
<p>He stops himself, his heart wrenching.</p>
<p>
  <em>I watched you die...</em>
</p>
<p>Asra can’t control his sobs gradually growing more violent. He shouldn’t be crying in front of Ilya like this. He shouldn’t be crying <em>period</em>. For gods sake, it was just a fucking <em>dream</em>; it wasn’t real. Yet, here he is, chest writhe with pain, his whole body quaking with fear, one cry after another escaping his body. And all because...</p>
<p><em>I watched you</em> <strong>die</strong>.</p>
<p>What, really, is a lost soul left to do...?</p>
<p>Well...</p>
<p>There’s another soul right there by his side, ready to help him find the way.</p>
<p>For that soul is lost, too.</p>
<p>But that’s just fine; they can be lost together.</p>
<p>Asra feels all the air vanish from his lungs in a swift wave as a warm chest presses against his back and cool arms wrap around him. A chin leans on his shoulder.</p>
<p>“I’m not going anywhere,” Ilya whispers delicately. “I’m never going anywhere, my dear...”</p>
<p>
  <em>Ilya...</em>
</p>
<p>A lump forms in Asra’s throat. He softly grips one of Ilya’s arms with both of his hands.</p>
<p>“I know, my love,” Asra replies in a wisp, more tears streaking his face. “I know you’re not...”</p>
<p>He closes his eyes, allowing himself to be enveloped by Ilya. Some of the melancholy falls away. </p>
<p>Ilya gently rests his head against Asra’s, both lingering like that for a moment. Indulging in the quiet ambiance. Finding solace in each other’s embrace. Droplets of tranquility flow over Asra, further calming his mind. Even so, steady, silent tears stream down his cheeks. A soft sense of sorrow still weighs on his heart.</p>
<p>And he wishes he knew why...</p>
<p>Ilya’s hand drifts to the gash on Asra’s chest, kind fingers gracing the wound. Asra winces at the sting.</p>
<p>“Asra,” Ilya starts softly, “you...you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”</p>
<p>Asra exhales and rests his hand on top of Ilya’s. “I know...I know...”</p>
<p>His fingers flinch around it. The weight on his heart grows heavier.</p>
<p>“I’m still...<em>terrified</em>,” he trails, more tears pushing their way down his cheeks. “I...I don’t know what I’d do if I saw you like that. S-so much anguish—“</p>
<p>Asra chokes as the image flares in his memory.</p>
<p>“That can’t h-happen to you. I can’t let that happen to you...”</p>
<p>Asra feels Ilya’s embrace tighten ever so slightly, hears a quiet sniffle.</p>
<p>“It hurts just as much seeing <em>you</em> in so much pain,” Ilya says, “moreso when you don’t tell me what’s going on in that magical mind of yours.”</p>
<p>Asra starts, his throat tightening.</p>
<p>
  <em>That’s why...</em>
</p>
<p>Ilya pauses, perhaps to sort out his thoughts, before continuing.</p>
<p>“It’ll be hard, but just for me, be selfish and share it with me,” Ilya says, his thumb lightly glissading over Asra’s chest. “Share anything—anything at all—even if you think it’ll hurt me, because I promise you it’ll never hurt as much as seeing you like this.”</p>
<p>Asra actually hears Ilya chuckle a bit.</p>
<p>“Asra, I’ll do <em>everything</em> I can to make sure any burden you have isn’t so bad. Because...well, I trust you, for one. And I believe in you for another. And for a third—“</p>
<p>“I love you,” Asra finishes in time with Ilya.</p>
<p>He can feel Ilya’s steadfast smile without even looking at him.</p>
<p>“Exactly,” Ilya sighs, leaning a little bit more into his magician. “And for a third, I love you.”</p>
<p>Asra finds himself smiling in spite of that sorrow shackling his heart, in spite of that melancholy he can’t quite shake, in spite of that dream that reminds him of his fears and doubts and insecurities. Ilya’s fuzzy hope or joy or whatever it slowly seeps into Asra, gradually soothing those woes. It always does. Somehow, it <em>always</em> reaches him whenever his mind reels and his heart shatters. Whatever it actually is, Asra’s grateful for its existence. </p>
<p>No, wait, that’s not quite right...</p>
<p>He’s grateful for <em>Ilya’s</em> existence. </p>
<p>He’s grateful for that preposterous smile and those lanky limbs. He’s grateful for those messy curls and that exorbitant bravado. He’s grateful for his trust. His belief. His love. He’s grateful for his growing compassion for himself and his endless compassion for this hodgepodge of a human being. Well, they’re both hodgepodges of human beings. And neither would want it to be any other way.</p>
<p>Because...</p>
<p>With <em>enough</em> trust...</p>
<p>With <em>enough</em> belief...</p>
<p>With <em>enough</em> love...</p>
<p>
  <em>It’ll get better. Of course it’ll get better.</em>
</p>
<p>Asra nods. “O-okay...”</p>
<p>He feels Ilya’s head turn to him. “Okay?”</p>
<p>He shifts around in the embrace to face Ilya properly, their arms finding one another. Asra freely searches Ilya’s hopeful, affectionate soul with an unwavering smile, the sorrow, the melancholy, the pain all long forgotten.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Asra repeats, a few joyful tears prickling the corners of his eyes, “I will. Of course I will. But, please Ilya, tell me about your troubles, too. I can’t have you shouldering burdens all on your own, either.”</p>
<p>Ilya smiles back, his hands slipping down Asra’s arm to twine together. “Of course I will, my dear. Of course I will.”</p>
<p>He leans in and presses a gentle kiss onto Asra’s forehead, Asra all but melting into the sensation. When Asra drifts back onto the bed with only mirth flooding his senses, when he feels long arms secure themselves around him once more, he gets the notion to request:</p>
<p>“...a story.”</p>
<p>“Hm?”</p>
<p>“Tell me a story, Ilya.”</p>
<p>It’s no shock that Ilya lights up after hearing the inquiry. He loves telling stories, and a story is exactly what Asra wants to hear right now.</p>
<p>“A story, huh?” Ilya confirms before humming quietly to himself. “Hmm...have I ever told you about the time Malak fought a man and won?”</p>
<p>Asra giggles. Yep, he knew he needed an Ilya Devorak story.</p>
<p>“If you’re talking about yourself, then I may have witnessed that story first-hand.”</p>
<p>“Oh, we both know Malak kicks my ass every day. No no, I’m talking about a man who’s thrice the person I am—“</p>
<p>“Several people fit that description already, Ilya.”</p>
<p>“Hey,” Ilya retorts with a chuckle, “I thought you wanted me to tell you a story, not endure such ludicrous slander!”</p>
<p>“Am I wrong, though?”</p>
<p>“W-well, I mean, uh...no...”</p>
<p>Asra laughs as quietly as he allows himself to. “Exactly. But, continue, Ilya. I’d love to hear all about how Malak defeated that poor, poor soul.”</p>
<p>And so, Ilya continues with the tale (that may or may not actually be true). As Asra listens and interjects and laughs along with Ilya, he can’t help but feel happy. Plain and simple. It accompanies him throughout the tale turned into a shared recollection of a jubilant experience soon drifting into the pleasant, dreamy slumber of him right in the arms of his beloved. So comforting. So pleasant. So warm...</p>
<p>Perhaps he isn’t as lost as he thought he was.</p>
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